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Fiction

Once a Detective, Always a Detective

In his novel “Old God’s Time,” Sebastian Barry puts a retired policeman on a case that dredges up painful memories.

Credit...Gastón Mendieta

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OLD GOD’S TIME, by Sebastian Barry


The opening of Sebastian Barry’s new novel, “Old God’s Time,” invites us to imagine we are at the start of a detective story. One detective, Tom Kettle, on the first page; three detectives by Page 5. And not just any old detective story but that darling of the genre, the cold-case review.

By the end of the first chapter, however, we are warned off. The novel is written in the third person, though securely from Kettle’s point of view. As we wait to discover what old villainy has brought two younger detectives to disturb Kettle’s retirement, his snug hideaway on the Irish coast, we are caught in the sideways sliding of his mind, and a constant deferment of the revelations we expect. Something to do with priests? The visitors need Kettle’s help and present him with reports, “dreary accounts of wretched allegations.” They stay the night and are gone at first light, much to Kettle’s relief. Whatever this matter is — and he certainly knows more than we do — he wants no part of it.

The novel has an epigraph drawn from the Book of Job: “Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee?” Kettle is Job — the put upon, the tested, the long-suffering — though we learn only quite late in the novel the full extent of his misfortunes. He is also “job,” for though retired, he remains, always and importantly, a detective, a member of the guild, of those who see more than is good for them.

As for the unicorn, it plays a slippery and puzzling role. It appears twice, the first time in a corner of Kettle’s landlord’s drawing room — objet d’art rather than breathing animal — and then again on the beach below Kettle’s flat during a burst of hectic action near the conclusion of the novel. What is it doing? It seems to signal something significant about the book’s terms of reality. A unicorn (for most of us) exists in a world of dream, of otherness. How much of Tom Kettle, his comings and goings, should we take as belonging to that world? I was reminded of Flann O’Brien’s “The Third Policeman,” which is also full of uncertainty as to who is alive and who is not. This gives to Barry’s novel a kind of shimmer and motility some will find attractive (I did), and others a source of frustration.

At 66, Kettle is about the same age as Barry, and there are good riffs on the rewards of aging — troublesome prostates, wind, sleeplessness. Raised in an orphanage by the Christian Brothers congregation, Kettle was also abused by them. His wife was similarly harmed, and the cruelty of religion in Ireland is a central concern of the novel, though one that sadly shocks us less than it would have once. Barry writes about this with compassion and quiet rage. He has a high style, though one tethered to the demotic and homely (as befits a protagonist called Kettle). There are lovely sentences (“He slept in a peopled menagerie of many things”), and the novel, for all its grimness, can be very funny.

In Job, when the testing is over, God relents: “So the Lord blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning.” Does Kettle do so well? Who or what has been testing him? What faith was he required to maintain? There is indeed, in the final pages, an echo of Job, something sweetly miraculous, though how it should be taken, and to what extent the reader or Tom Kettle should be comforted, may depend on one’s faith in unicorns.


Andrew Miller is the author, most recently, of “The Slowworm’s Song.”


OLD GOD’S TIME | By Sebastian Barry | 261 pp. | Viking | $28

A version of this article appears in print on  , Page 10 of the Sunday Book Review with the headline: Always a Detective. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

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